


I Like the Colors

by Lauralot



Series: HYDRA's A+ Parenting [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crack, Diapers, Gen, HYDRA Trash Party, Recovery, Shame, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 13:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5627569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam expected that HYDRA did terrible, dehumanizing things to Bucky.  What he didn't expect was Bucky's attitude toward it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Like the Colors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhatEvenAmI](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatEvenAmI/gifts).



> A year ago, when I wrote the first two fics in this series, I initially planned to write a third detailing Bucky's treatment coming to light after he escaped HYDRA. But it fell off my radar until the yesterday when I received the following ask on Tumblr: "Seriously, I know that [ _I'm a Big Squid Now_ ] was supposed to be a short crackfic, but I'd love to know how Bucky copes after that."
> 
> So this is how.

Sam doesn’t bother to knock.

He’s been coming to the apartment every Sunday to cook breakfast for months now. Bucky’s used to it. Usually, he’s there to greet Sam as soon as the door opens.

But today, he doesn’t look up. Bucky’s sitting on the floor of the living room, with Steve’s laptop upside down on his thighs. He’s unscrewing the hard drive, and beside him, Steve’s StarkPad is similarly dismantled.

Shit.

“Hey, Bucky,” Sam says gently. There’s no time to set down his grocery bags before Bucky looks up, and Sam doesn’t dare move once he has, trying not to startle him. Bucky hasn’t had a spell like this in ages. At least he’s dismantling the electronics now instead of trying to tear off his arm or rip out his teeth in search of trackers and cyanide. “What’s happening?”

“You’re looking at me like I’m crazy,” Bucky says. “I’m not crazy. Help me with this before Steve gets back.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.”

Bucky’s eyes are already back on the laptop. Sam sets down the bags before carefully taking a seat on the hardwood beside him.

“Why are you taking apart Steve’s computers?” Sam asks. Bucky can’t think that Steve’s spying on him, right? Otherwise he’d have run away or set up an ambush or something. Maybe he’d have cried.

Crying’s rare for Bucky. He’s been slowly adjusting to the mechanisms of civilian life: realizing that he doesn’t have to earn his keep with missions, coming around to the concept that he won’t be punished or isolated for mistakes.

Emotionally, though, Bucky doesn’t appear to have processed all that Hydra’s done to him. He doesn’t seem to grasp that being held against his will and forced to murder people was wrong. And maybe that’s the best thing for now: letting Bucky adjust to a stable, healthy situation before he starts working through that stuff. But it sure makes him hard to read sometimes.

“There are pictures of me from HYDRA on the Internet,” Bucky says. He takes the hard drive out and pushes it under the couch. “If Steve sees them, he’ll cry and hug me and pace around yelling. I don’t want that.”

Sam’s stomach drops. Imagining what the _content_ of those pictures could be is bad enough, but now his mind is running wild about who might have released them and why. Hackers dumping info online and releasing pictures that make Bucky look like a willing participant? A HYDRA agent threatening Bucky by spreading photos of his torture?

“Bucky,” he begins. “What kind of pi—”

“Bucky!”

The door flies open, hitting the bookshelf and bounding back. It misses Steve by a hair as he comes charging into the room, almost skidding on the floor as he hugs onto Bucky.

Bucky’s breathing doesn’t change, but he manages to clearly sigh anyway, just from the look in his eyes.

“God, Buck, I’m so sorry,” Steve is saying, almost rocking him. Behind Bucky’s back, Steve has his phone clenched in his hand, knuckles white around it. “I’m going to find the bastards that released these, I swear, I’m going to track down every agent that ever—who took these? Rumlow? I’ll tear him limb from—”

“Whoa,” Sam says. “Steve, give Bucky some breathing room. What are these pictures? How long have they been out?”

Steve pulls himself away like a reluctant sloth. “They went viral about an hour ago. Nat texted me. Tony’s trying to track down the source.” He curls in on his phone, as if hiding the evidence from Sam will somehow protect Bucky. “Buck, I’m so sor—”

“They’re pictures of the diapers,” Bucky says flatly, eyes on Sam. “I don’t care.”

The diapers. Sam tries not to wince.

Bucky had been in relatively good shape when they found him. His injuries from the fight with Steve were healing well. He was undernourished and dehydrated, but neither one to an extent that required hospitalization. Once they got him home, he seemed in perfect health aside from the amnesia.

Until Sam heard liquid splattering against the floor and looked down to see the puddle forming under Bucky’s chair.

They’d first dismissed it as a result of stress, but eventually Bucky had grown annoyed enough about the accidents to explain that this was their job to deal with. HYDRA, it turned out, whether to establish dominance or to save time, had only let Bucky use toilets to move his bowels. They didn’t want their sniper distracted with the need for a piss while staring through his scope, so they diapered him in the field. And as most of his waking time was spent in the field, Bucky had grown accustomed to relieving himself whenever he felt the urge.

Steve, chalky-faced and stammering, had hugged Bucky tight before he went to the pharmacy for supplies. It had been Sam’s task to explain to Bucky about how bodily functions worked now that he was out of HYDRA. It wasn’t hard. A quick talk and a few websites later, and Bucky was dealing with his hygiene and toilet training on his own. He learned fast. That day had been the last that Sam heard about it.

Until now.

Bracing himself, Sam takes the phone from Steve, trying to will his expression to stay neutral.

It doesn’t quite work.

“ _This_ is what they made you wear?”

When Bucky said HYDRA put him in diapers, Sam had expected _adult_ diapers. The sort found in hospitals and nursing homes. The stuff in these pictures look more like his nephew’s Goodnites, only a lot more pink. And with squids. And— “Is that Steve’s shield?”

“It faded when wet,” Bucky says. “I wore MAGs originally. But the STRIKE team didn’t like cleaning me up, so the tech team made those. I believe they had a rivalry. Because the shield faded, my field commanders had no excuse to ignore my maintenance.”

He sounds bored. And in the pictures, his face is blank. Tinged a little pink, but blank. Sam supposes that’s better than if he felt humiliated.

“Those bastards,” Steve says. _He_ looks humiliated. Humiliated and furious.

“Commander Rumlow wasn’t happy,” Bucky adds. “That was funny, looking back.”

“Bucky,” Steve begins, eyes shining.

“I know that you’re sorry. You don’t need to be.” Bucky shrugs. “They were comfortable. Wearing them mean less time sitting around wet. And the colors were nice. It was better than most things when I was with them.”

Steve doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. Neither does Sam, faltering for words. This is the first time Bucky’s expressed any negative view toward HYDRA out loud, and he needs to respond, but his mind’s drawing a blank. “That’s—”

Steve’s phone chimes.

Retrieving the phone from Sam, Steve reads the text. “Tony’s been working to copyright your likeness,” he tells Bucky. “Once that’s finished, he can have these pictures deleted from any reputable websites and nail the people who won’t take them down for copyright violations.”

“Have him make more of the pull-ups,” Bucky says. “I like them better than the stuff I wear at night now.” He stands up, tilting his head toward the dismantled laptop. “I removed the hard drives from your devices. The screwdriver I used is there. I’m going to take a shower.”

Then he’s gone.

“Well,” Sam says, because he has to say _something_. “At least he’s showing preferences?”

“Fuck HYDRA,” Steve mutters.


End file.
